


Extraterrestrial

by cyanidebats



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: AU, Alien!Pete, M/M, also Patrick and Joe are in an up and coming band together, and Andy works for their potential label
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:11:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanidebats/pseuds/cyanidebats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is from an anon prompt i got on tumblr: "peterick au where pete is an alien trying to adapt to life on earth and patrick is the unfortunate human whose garden pete crash-landed in." A huge thank you to whoever that was bc I have so much motivation to write this idek why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extraterrestrial

The light of Patrick’s laptop glowed into the pitch black of his bedroom. According to the clock in the bottom right corner of his screen it was 3:00am and he was nowhere near sleep. He brushed his hand through his hair and sighed as he thought about his early morning the next day and finally decided to abandon his unfinished demo yet again in lieu of some much needed sleep. He promised himself he’d get up extra early to finish it and shut his laptop, engulfing the room in darkness.

Almost an hour later he awoke to the loudest crashing noise he had ever heard. He quickly stumbled out of bed and ran to the window to see what had just woken him. To Patrick’s dismay, when he pulled back his curtains he discovered that his yard was on fire. Not only was his yard on fire, but there was some sort of wreckage there too, half-buried in his lawn. Patrick practically flew through the house, hoping to find a fire extinguisher or something that seemed like a reasonable solution to the hell awaiting him in his yard.

When he finally bust out through the door with the largest jug of water he could find, he discovered that the flames had dissipated. There was nothing left but scorched earth and the same wreckage that presumably started the fire. Patrick slowly lowered himself onto his back step and placed his head in his hands, nearly delirious from the night’s events. How his lawn was extinguished, he didn’t know, but did he really know anything anymore? After all it was 4:30 in the goddamn morning. He was about to resign himself to the mystery and head inside, when he remembered the wreckage.

He kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. Surely someone must’ve been driving the vehicle that managed to land in his backyard. Patrick sprinted towards the ruins of whatever car crashed into his lawn, praying that whoever was possibly in there wasn’t dead. When he reached it he was shocked to find a man about his size slumped over the steering wheel. Amid the twisted pieces of metal and shards of broken glass that littered the area, Patrick tried his damn best to free the unconscious man without maiming him. After another half hour both Patrick and the unconscious man were lying on the burned ground of Patrick’s backyard as he caught his breath before dragging the man to the safety of his home where nothing would catch on fire and Patrick could call for medical help.

The next challenge the never-ending night presented was the journey up Patrick’s back stairs into his house. Though he didn’t want to admit it, Patrick wasn’t the fittest of guys, and carrying a guy his size up a flight of stair was no easy task. It involved many near-droppings, a lot of breaks to catch his breath, and the constant repetition of the word “why” in Patrick’s head. When he finally set the bleach blonde man on his sofa, he slumped into the arm chair next to it and sighed the longest sigh of his life. His legs and lungs were burning and his back felt like it would never forgive him. He was about to reach for the phone when his eyes drooped shut and sleep overtook him.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He awoke with a start to the sun shining on his face. The sun… Oh _shit_. His meeting with the label was at 8:00am. He ran into his room to check his phone. He screamed at the time the phone was showing him: 10:00am. When he saw the messages and missed calls he nearly passed out. 101 messages and 43 missed calls. Most of the messages were along the lines of this:

**Joe (7:45am): dude the meeting’s starting soon where are you?**

**Joe (7:50am): trick you need to be here in 10 minutes why the hell aren’t you answering your phone???**

**Joe (7:55am): Patrick Vaughn Stump if you do not walk through these meeting room doors in the next 5 minutes i am going to beat you to death with my guitar collection**

**Joe (8:01am): the producers are here where are you??? pick up your fucking phone!!**

**Joe (8:05am): the producers asked where you are AND I HAVE THE SAME GODDAMN QUESTION WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE**

**Joe (8:15am): I HAVE BEEN STALLING FOR YOU FOR AN ETERNITY AND NOW THE PRODUCERS ARE THREATENING TO LEAVE IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE IN THE NEXT 10 MINUTES SO I AM BEGGING YOU TO ANSWER YOUR PHONE OR ELSE THIS ENTIRE RECORD DEAL MIGHT BE OVER**

Shit shit _shit_. Patrick was in so much trouble he didn’t know what to do. Calling Joe would be a horrible idea seeing as his excuse was that he was asleep. Joe would knock him out cold if Patrick told him that. No, he had to fake a terminal illness or call the record label and tell them his grandma died or say he had been in a tragic car crash and was lucky to be alive or-

Patrick’s rambling thoughts of doom were suddenly brought to a halt by a clatter coming from the kitchen. And it was at that exact moment Patrick remembered why he hadn’t gotten any sleep last night. He ran into the kitchen (and thought about how he’d been running way too often for his liking) to find the previously unconscious man sitting cross-legged on his kitchen floor surrounded by pots, pans, dishes, and cutlery. The man held an object in his hand, transfixed by whatever it was. Upon closer inspection, Patrick discovered that it was indeed, a fork. Then, as if the spell had been broken, the man slowly looked up at Patrick and softly whispered, “What…is this?”

“ _Great_ ,” Patrick thought, “ _he’s high as shit_.” Patrick then said to the man who was still staring at him awestruck and awaiting a response, “It’s a fork dude. You use it to eat.” The man then looked back down at the fork and began rhythmically chanting, “Fork, fork, fork, fork…”, over and over, getting increasingly confident with each repetition of the word. Patrick knew he needed to get this strange man out of his house right. damn. now.

Speaking of strange, looking down, Patrick noticed that the man wasn’t wearing conventional stoner clothes, or even conventional clothes. He was wearing a sort of iridescent jumpsuit and heavy looking boots. He also had a weird wristband on that kept catching the light and reflecting it into Patrick’s face.

Jumpsuit man was still chanting while Patrick was staring at his clothes and by the time Patrick decided to take any action, the man was nearly screaming the word “fork” at him. “Yes, yes it’s a fork. I think it’s about time we get you home, man. Do you want me to call you a cab?” The man looked confused. “H-home?”

“Yeah dude, home. Where you live. Because it’s definitely not here.”

“Live?”

Patrick was getting slightly frustrated by this probably high stranger sitting in the middle of his wrecked kitchen. He already had enough to deal with without this jackass crashing his car or whatever into his garden in the middle of the night. Actually, thinking about his car…

“Do you have, like, GPS in your car that might be salvageable?”

“Car?”

Patrick gave up on this guy ever being a useful source of information and stalked out to his backyard to check the guy’s car himself. The guy quickly followed him, still holding the fork. When Patrick reached his backyard, he froze. Apparently he remembered last night very differently than how it actually occurred. Because the wrecked vehicle among his bushes was certainly not a car. It looked like nothing he'd ever seen before. Sleek, large, and absolutely destroyed, the vessel in Patrick's lawn was beyond any current aeronautical feats. He quickly looked at the man with the fork, desperate for answers. The man met his gaze and uttered only one word.

"Oops."

**Author's Note:**

> AN: this is my first proper fic so please don't yell at me if it's awful. also there probably won't be any smut in this because i can't write smut for shit. sorry. also the flames went out bc they're weird and alien and i didn't want to involve the fire dept.


End file.
